


Humping

by ceywoozle



Series: One Word Bottomjohn Prompts [33]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Plug, Animal Play, Dirty Talk, M/M, PWP, Puppy Play, Rutting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 09:04:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3375719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceywoozle/pseuds/ceywoozle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>part of the one word bottomjohn prompt series.</p><p>John is such a good dog.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Humping

“Good boy. Good boy, John. Such a good boy.”

John pants and wriggles. He feels the fur of his tail brushing against his thighs as he furiously waggles his arse in the air. The plug shifts and presses with the motion and he whimpers, a high whining sound that makes Sherlock smile.

“What a beautiful boy you are,” Sherlock murmurs, and bends down to reach between John's legs.

For a brief second, John thinks he's found bliss, that his master's hand will find its way to the straining length of his cock, bobbing and twitching against his belly. But it's only a second, a glorious second, then those fingers clasp down on his testicles, heavy and full between his legs. He drops immediately, his head to the ground, his arse sticking up in the air, offering himself, and he feels fingers pulling at the plug that is in his hole, adjusting it, dragging at the silky tail and brushing it along John's thighs.

“What a beautiful bitch you are,” Sherlock croons. “You need to be mounted soon. Bred. I'll get the breeding stand out for tonight. I know how much you squirm. I want to see that belly round with puppies.”

John whimpers and whines, trying not to squirm, trying to be good. The plug shifts in his hole, in and out, in and out, small movements, but significant. His cock is hard and aching between his legs and he wants to rut into the carpet but the fingers clamped around his balls keeps him still.The shallow fucking continues for several minutes and every second that goes by makes it more and more difficult for John to stay still. But that grip is unrelenting and John is crying, high-pitched animals noises of need by the time it gives one last squeeze and disappears. The grip on the plug in his arse vanishes too, the subtle fucking coming to an end, and as soon as it does John  starts to rut, falling to the carpet and dragging his aching cock against the worn pile. It burns but he can't stop, his hips shuddering and gyrating wildly out of his control, and it's only his master's voice, sharp and commanding that finally gets through to him. He is whimpering and shaking by the time he sits up, on his haunches like his master taught him, with the plug pressing deep into his stretched body.

“Silly dog,” Sherlock chides sternly, and John ducks his head, ashamed. “You know that's not good for you. I don't want you to hurt yourself.”

John waggles his tail, pleased and grateful for the care of his master, and the plug shifts and presses in his body.

He watches with eager eyes as Sherlock sits down in his chair and stretches out one lean silk-clad leg. Long white fingers snap commandingly and point to it.

John almost falls over his own paws trying to get to it. His cock, hard and bobbing, bumps obscenely against his belly and he feels his balls, full and swollen, bounce between his legs. He is clenching against the plug in his arse and the silk of his tail sways with his movement. He reaches his master's leg and with a breathless whine of need he clambers onto it, mounting it clumsily.

His hips are moving before he's even settled, his pelvis jerking to and fro, desperate to be mounted but also desperate to mount. When his cock makes that first rut against his master's leg he makes a full-throated animal sound, his mouth wide open and his eyes tightly closed. He ruts against it desperately, hips swinging out of his control. He's so hard, so needy. His tail is snapping behind him and his hole is clenching greedily at the plug and John thinks of how it will be his master soon, how soon he will be mounted and bred, and with  a keening, crying wail he suddenly comes, his cock pulsing into the silken material of his master's trouser leg, soaking into it, and he keeps rutting, keeps going until it's too much, his hips twitching uncontrollably, and it's only when his master put a soothing hand on his head and says, “Good boy. Good dog, John,” that he falls sideways with a whine.

Immediately his master's hand is on him, petting and soothing, soft words sung into John's ears. “Good boy, good dog. Such a beautiful dog. I can't wait to breed you, bitch. You will give me such beautiful puppies.”

John whimpers and tries to wag his tail but he's tired, so tired, and there's still so much left for him to do. With a grunt, he drags himself upright and he hears the pride in his master's voice when he does so.

“Good, good boy! You know what to do. You're such a clever dog. You know you need to clean up the mess you made, don't you?”

And John manages a single feeble waggle of his arse, feeling the tail swing between his legs, before he bends his mouth to the stained silk pants and begins to lick.


End file.
